Time
by Gemenied
Summary: Standing in a quiet room one contemplates. Songfic
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello everybody and welcome to my second story. I'd like to dedicate it to Teddy78 - who knows why *hugs* - and I'd like to thank Shadowsamurai83 for the beta and the advice. Therefore, I also place a tissue warning on this.

Title: Time

Rating: T

Spoilers: "Endgame"

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the show which belong to the BBC. I also don't own the song which was written by Gary Barlow, sung by Shirley Bassey and belongs to them and Geffen Music.

Summary: He stands in the mittdle of the room and contemplates

**Time - Part I**

**This Time**

He stood in the middle of the room and stared into nothingness. Normally a man of action, it somehow didn't feel right to do nothing, but it was his fate now, to do nothing. Standing, sitting, pacing, watching, waiting - always waiting. He hated waiting.

_No more crying for help_

_no more blaming myself_

_Living under a spell, hypnotized_

_Too much figuring out_

_Too much standing my ground_

_No pride left to be proud_

_only fear_

Looking back, he wondered how it could have come so far. The years were slowly melting into each other, becoming a somewhat turbulent, somewhat murky stream of a life. Sometimes it was unbelievably hot, sometimes unbearably cold. Within this stream, he had tumbled, paddling for dear life at times.

It was a joke, really, all this time wasted when he silently, through his actions, pleaded for help; yet with the same actions he had refused the help, thinking that he didn't deserve the support. He had brought the disasters onto himself, that was his opinion, and his actions followed it.

Such codified behaviour, impossible to decipher, had frustrated everybody around him, effectively pushed them all away. He blamed himself for that too.

It wasn't that he didn't recognise the behaviour, didn't see the effects of it or suffered from them. Yet he felt unable to do anything about it. Sometimes it was like there was an outside force at work that made him so reticent about letting people in. And he couldn't exactly blame his past for it. The situation had been actively created - by him alone.

He had spent so much time figuring out other people's lives and deaths that there had been no time left for anything else. In truth, though, he had not made the effort. His social connections had all but dried up, the few people still there near exhaustion for trying to keep a connection alive.

He was at his wits' end as well. Out of all he had held dear in life, what was left? If he died now, what would remain of him?

Looking around the room with slight disdain, he found its starkness a constant reminder of what his life had become. The paint on the walls was spotless, but of a lifeless colour. The posters on the wall pretty but inane and empty, not uplifting at all. In a word, the room was dreary and forbidding - a painful combination considering its purpose.

He hated the room as well. Leaving it, however, was not an option. If he left now, he might as well have tumbled from that roof too.

_Didn't know who it was_

_In the mirror last night_

_So I left there with nothing to lose_

_Every step didn't just take me further away_

_Every step took me closer to finding you_

It sounded a little pathetic to make such an absolute statement, especially from him. He wasn't a man prone let his emotions get to him like that. He was the 'push away and forget about it'-type. She had once called him "repressed, depressed and in denial. Isolated," and she had been right. She always was, it seemed.

It was the picture he had seen last night, at home. He hadn't even looked into a mirror at first, only later been drawn to take stock of his appearance while his mind ripped his person apart. Who needed a mirror if one had self-perception?

It had been a blinding moment of recognition, his gaunt paleness afterwards no less of a shock. With it came an insight so sharp that it burned him, inside, outside, everywhere.

"Repressed, depressed and in denial. Isolated."

The sad thing about it was that she had known it for years and it had been his blindness and egotism to make her say it out loud. At the time he hadn't even considered whether it had hurt her as much to say it as it had hurt him to hear it. Yet he hadn't really listened, which had brought him to that moment in front of the mirror last night.

The harsh question remained: What was left of his life? What did really still matter? The answer had been ruthless.

Nothing.

What had been the centre of his life - his work - was all but gone. What had been the driving force of his life - the fate of his son - was truly gone. What had been the safety net of his existence - she - could die.

And then?

It wasn't a conscious decision that had made him don his jacket, grab his keys and leave the flat that was no more than a few walls surrounding him. A place to stay, but not a place he lived in. That place would be, and was now, the room he stood in and stared out of the window into a dreary day.

Leaving his flat had been something of a liberation. It was as if he was shedding every ounce of pain and regret on his shoulders with every step he took and every mile he drove. Though he hadn't been sure of his reception, he had been certain that it would be a damn sight better than what he was leaving behind.

He had snuck into the building after hours, most occupants already asleep, one way or the other. It had been so quiet that he feared the few people awake could hear his heart beating in his throat and that he'd easily be caught by the attendants, but he had reached his destination without a problem.

Entering the dark room, he had had trouble distinguishing things at first, despite the fact that he had been there in daylight before. For a moment he had hesitated, momentarily shy with the decision he had made, but hearing her moving around, there had been no way back.

_I know this time's the time_

_The time for love_

_And it's right here in front of my eyes_

_I know this time's the kind_

_You only get once in your life_

He had taken a few hesitant steps closer, each reminding him that he was doing the right thing, the best thing, and yet nervous that he was overstepping a line he had drawn and she had enhanced as a reaction to his premise.

Therefore, he had stood a foot away from the bed watching her sleep. It was a heart-wrenching sight to see her in this bed, small and fragile. He had never really registered how small she was, especially compared to him. With her strong personality and presence, she always managed to virtually add a few inches to her size.

Here in this bed, though, the smell of the building overpowering even her personal one, she looked like a breakable object, small and frightened. There was one thing he had never understood about places like this - why did they leave people alone and in the dark on such nights?

She had to be frightened, probably hid the tears until she was alone, so nobody would see her break down.

She turned in the bed, her sleep not at all calm or relaxing, and he closed the distance quickly in reaction. Now standing right next to the bed, he extended his hand without thought and took her hand in his.

It was cold to the touch and he instinctively covered it with his other hand to put some warmth into her.

Her entire body tensed for a second as she realized the presence of another person in the room and she startled out of her sleep. Wide-eyed she stared at him, his name a disbelieving croak falling from her mouth.

A wave of tenderness washed over him at the anxious expressions on her face, providing him with another sharp insight. This one, however, wasn't as blinding or as painful as his earlier one had been. It was just as if somebody had removed the shutters in front of his eyes and over his heart.

His smile deepened at the thought and he gently hushed her with a finger over her lips. If possible, her eyes widened even more, the question in her mind obvious.

Instead of an answer, he sat down on the bed and pulled her into his arms, tenderly stroking her hair and back. It took her a few moments to get over the shock before she relaxed and all but melted into him.

The third insight of the night came with such a feeling of contentment that he couldn't suppress a gasp. This was where he belonged to and where he would remain.

_No more tryin' to break free_

_No more apologies_

_No more finding my feet just to fall_

They had stayed like this for minutes, maybe even hours. No words were spoken, no questions answered. He just held her, stroked her hair and her back, even when she pulled back to stare at him and then crumbled before his eyes.

The tears he had suspected she shed only in solitude came out like a torrent, releasing themselves in heavy sobs that almost shattered her tiny frame and even shocked his own. So much anguish in her, he would never have suspected, hadn't taken into account.

She had rasped out the possibilities of the morning, the worst case scenario he hadn't considered, and for a moment he had been stunned. Tomorrow morning could be a death sentence precluded by a more or less debilitating road of suffering. Loss of strength and loss of dignity before she died.

The truth was delivered in harsh, un-minced words and afterwards she had pulled back again, giving him the option to leave. She didn't need to say it, he knew that she expected him to go, grateful for the little comfort he had gifted her with. But instead of running away, he had pulled her back into his arms, now adding kisses to her hair, to her face.

She didn't know how to take his reaction, the shake of her head more than enough indication to her disbelief. He smiled at her, shaking his head as well, but his was a shake of confirmation.

"I am staying." It was the first words he uttered since entering her room, the first in hours actually, but it felt blessedly right.

There was no reason to go any more. Where else could he be anyway?

_Every dream didn't just_

_take me further away_

_Every dream took me closer_

_to finding you_

Her doubt was clear in her expression, the surprise at his seeming about face. She hadn't expected steadfastness or even this interest in her person. More than that she'd been shocked at the tenderness with which he treated her, the affection with which he touched her.

The question was so obvious that he chuckled at some point, shook his head, and affectionately whispered her name over and over.

Of course, she'd be doubtful. The way he had treated her in the past could have given her no indication of his feelings. He had looked anywhere for companionship, for the thrill, anywhere but at her.

But no, that wasn't true either. He had looked once, early in their acquaintance, and the flutter of interest had been there, sharply defined. The thought had been dismissed immediately, through a rare amount of sense that an affair between them would be a very bad idea. He was a recent divorcee, she a recent widow, and they'd have to work together. It would have been hundred kinds of a bad idea.

This way they had quickly bypassed the concept of a casual affair, going straight to a friendship that quickly became too important to both of them to endanger it with a quick fumble. There had also been the fear in him that if they started a relationship, he'd be too open to her, too vulnerable. It would give her the opportunity to hurt him deeper than anybody or lay him bare in a way he couldn't deal with.

So he had deliberately avoided looking at her, telling himself and her that they were friends and it was good that way - which it was - and looked for his jollies elsewhere.

Being an attractive man, there was no lack of initially interested attractive women and he took what was offered. But none of those women stayed long once they caught a glimpse of his personality and his heart was never into it. Not even in his last foray, as much as he had tried to make others, especially her, believe.

It was in the past now and maybe it wasn't even a wasted past, for it just might have made him the man he needed to be now.

_I know this time's the time_

_The time for love_

_And it's right here in front of my eyes_

_I know this time's the kind_

_You only get once in your life_

He stumbled through his attempt at explaining, a little embarrassed by the lack of proper words. Not used to touchy-feely conversations, he avoided the topic, speaking of the inane things of the day.

She, in typical fashion, let him ramble before giving him a look that demanded the truth. With a smile that was apology and sheepishness at the same time, he told her then of the blinding insight in the oppressive silence of his flat and his instinct to come here to her.

She blushed endearingly. Bashfulness suited her, he thought

The entire time he talked, he had held on to her, stroked her skin, her hair, the tenderness pouring from him without thought. She smiled at him, at the feeling of his body close to her, his touching hands. It was her first real smile, bright and genuine.

They embraced again, warmth spreading between them, enveloping them both.

It lasted for moments or minutes, but all of a sudden she stiffened and pulled back, her face a mask of determination. Before she could give him the easy way out once again, he shook his head and repeated his earlier words: "I am staying."

_Left a lot of courage behind_

_That I won't be needing this time_

_'Cause I can be true_

_I can be one, I can be strong_

He had always thought that it took strength and courage to stand up for yourself, manage on your own, but it wasn't entirely true.

With the picture she had painted of the future, it would need a lot of strength and courage to just be there, take what life dealt her and him by extension. There would be little allowance for anger fits on his side, for the dismissive brashness he was known for. What the situation demanded was no less than a complete role reversal - him being strong for her and providing her safety net instead of the other way around.

Taking her hand, he looked her in the eyes, trying to convey that he wouldn't leave, even though he knew what lay ahead. He would be strong for her, because this was what he wanted.

_I know this time's the kind_

_You only get once in your life_

_I know this heart's the heart_

_the heart I'm keeping_

_All the love I thought I'd never find_

_I know this time's forever_

_For worse or for better_

_This time_

He looked around the room again and then at the alarm clock on the bedside table. The surgical procedure should finish within the next few minutes and he took it as a good sign that it had taken the full time. They'd have caught the whole tumour and any possible metastases then. At least he hoped so.

Nurses and doctors had been scandalized to find him in her room and bed in the morning. Even more so by the fact that he didn't leave upon their request, but instead stayed were he was, unmovable and defiant.

Next to him, she had barely contained her amusement.

When they took her away, he had promised her to stay and wait for her return. A hospital room was not the most romantic places on Earth to form a lifetime commitment, but neither of them was bothered by outward appearance.

Once, in that epic row years ago, she accused him of being "repressed, depressed and in denial. Isolated and un-loved." When she was wheeled into surgery, he leaned down and whispered the three words that revoked her accusation completely.

She didn't reply, her eyes wide in wonder, and he decided to burn the sight into his memory.

They weren't exactly a match made in heaven, they would never be, but life was about perception and he had always found those conventionally good matches a bore.

They didn't exactly have a bright future, his forced and disgraceful retirement looming no less than her cancer. Their future might be a very short one, but it would be theirs.

Checking his watch once again, he looked up when the door opened and a doctor walked in. Steeling himself for bad news and hoping for good news at the same time, Boyd felt his time with Grace beginning.

_This Time_

* * *

I hope you enjoyed. I'd appreciate comments. Thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: First of all, thank you all very much for your reviews for the first story in this small series. I am really glad that you all enjoyed it so much. As you can see, there is a companion piece - which I intended to write from the beginning, because I felt that the song I used for part one did have a companion song. So, here we are. Once again, I'll issue a tissue warning though I find this piece a little lighter (because the song is lighter in my opinion). I hope you enjoy this piece as much as its predecessor. Once again, I'd like to thank Shadowsamurai83 for the beta and the advice

Title: Time

Rating: T

Spoilers: "Endgame"

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the show which belong to the BBC. I also don't own the song which was written by John Barry & Don Black, sung by Shirley Bassey and belongs to them and Geffen Music.

Summary: She stands by the window and contemplates

**Time - Part II**

**Our Time**

She leaned against the wall as she stared out of the window. At this time of the night, the rain cast reflections on the empty pavement. Outside the world seemed deserted, people having sought either the comfort of their beds or the solace of artificial lights and companionship. She, however, was stuck in this room. And she was alone, the doctor having expressly forbidden her company.

There was no doubt in her mind that he wouldn't heed to the order, though. He never did. In fact, she had expected him to be here at this time, but he wasn't. Work had probably held him up, the case only hours away from solution.

She knew his heart wasn't into the case really, neither was the team's. They were all too worried about her, their thoughts on her rather than the work they had to do. She had scolded them before going in today, reminded them to focus, and they had all nodded, but not really heard.

Of course, her own mind wasn't very focussed either. Too much hung on those tests, too much of an effect would their results have on her life. If they came out well....

If not....

She was trying not to think too much about it, tried to concentrate on the good things - on him, for example.

_Our time is now_  
_not one day soon_  
_Your eyes don't lie_  
_Look how bright the stars_  
_And how close the moon_

He had told her several times that the outcome of tomorrow didn't matter, that it had no influence on his feelings or his behaviour. With almost childish stubbornness he insisted on his first statement. He stayed.

He had been there when she was wheeled into the surgical theatre, stunning her more with his declaration than the drugs to put her under could have done. Completely caught up in the meaning of those three words, she hadn't registered any of the proceedings to prepare her for the surgery. The first thought once she woke up in a haze from the anaesthetic had been those words. She hadn't processed them by the time she was coherent again and found him sitting beside her bed, asleep himself in the most uncomfortable position imaginable.

The image made her smile, it always did when she found him to be vulnerable. Seeing him like this caused a wave of tenderness to surge through her, though she half expected him to scoff at the notion. Feeling somebody watching him, he had woken, groaning at the crinks in his body. Age was unforgiving, she teased him. It never failed to rile him up, though she was beginning to suspect that his annoyed reaction was just to humour her.

That in itself was an unbelievable thing, but then she had never imagined the situation between them.

She wasn't susceptible to romantic flutterings, had long acknowledged that they were no more than flights of fancy. Thinking of him as the romantic hero was, in fact, such a fancy that she had labelled it as a middle-aged crush. Only it wasn't a crush.

And it wasn't as one-sided as the sensible part of her personality had always reminded her. Waking up and seeing her watching him, his face had lit up with a pleasure and tenderness that took her breath away.

"I told you I'd be here when you come back," he said, and she could only nod, still not entirely processing it.

"You've been here all the time?" she croaked, noticing his wrinkled clothes. It was laughable that she couldn't deal with his words but realized that he still wore yesterday's outfit.

"I promised." He got up and carefully sat down on the bed to take her hand in his. His hands were hot compared to hers, warming her instantly, not only with his greater body heat but with the clearly implied intention of holding on. To shush her, he leaned over and brushed a strand of hair out of her face, the gesture so poignant that tears were surging up in her. Looking at him, she saw that he fought them just as hard.

Both their smiles were shaky, their eyes connecting to say the things they wouldn't say out loud at this point. She was too groggy with drugs galloping through her body and he too raw from the emotional upheaval of the last hours.

Nevertheless, he held her gaze and she took her strength from him. A feeling of safety and optimism enveloped her and she relaxed back into sleep, the knowledge of his touch buyoing her.

It had become her well of strength through the last ten weeks fraught with worry and fear over her fate but his as well. The radiation treatment affected her sometimes, not so much to really suffer, but fatigue had been her companion the entire time. There had been days when she stayed awake no longer than midday, some so bad that she couldn't stand.

The anxiety on his face every time he found her in one of those spells broke her heart. He didn't deal well with loss and sometimes she worried what he would do, if their time was really cut short.

Still, he swallowed the fear and soldiered on, taking care of her, protecting her and mothering her. The latter, in which he was joined by the team, made her smile in disbelief, but she had seen it happening. He had cooked for her, helped her shower, helped her get dressed, even carried her on a few memorable occasions.

She remembered one of them vividly; that night had been so different from the current one. With cloudless skies and surprisingly warm temperatures, he had bundled her up in blankets and sat with her by the open window in her dark bedroom to look up and play their own version of 'spot the star.' It sounded a little childish and embarrassing, but they had only this, the here and now. It was a powerful reason to quench any residual mortification.

_Our time is now and evermore_  
_It took a while but a love_  
_like ours is worth waiting for_

He kept insisting on the necessity when she demurred at his compliments and lavish ideas. Deliveries from good restaurants, though they'd regretfully realized that this didn't always go over well; spa treatments for her; even a concert, during which she had fallen asleep.

There were flowers he brought her, one bouquet now residing on her bedside table.

She wondered at times why he went so much out of his usual ways, but when she asked, he just shook his head and told her that she deserved every bit of his attention. It made her blush, which in turn made him smile. To a point she felt like a teenager in the first flush of love, but at the same time she knew that it was because of age and the long wait and the possible death sentence hanging over them that she could appreciate, and he could do, what was happening between them.

More than eight years it had taken for them to get to this point and it didn't even seem ironic that there had to be several brushes with death and the total destruction of the life and work they both knew to say out loud that it was love between them. They'd never be conventional in any way and if that meant declaring their love for one another in a lifeless hospital room then so be it.

Due to her illness, their relationship wasn't sexual yet, and would not be for quite some time. In all honesty, she did miss this certain aspect; her fantasies were quite elaborate and full of imagery, and she wasn't saintly enough not to want to know what kind of a lover he was in reality. Yet, for the time being....

He said that it didn't matter and she believed him. Months ago she would have laughed in his face had he told her that he could have a romantic relationship without sex.

She didn't laugh any more. Not about this.

The way he looked at her, with tenderness and love, made her feel precious; and though their kisses were tempered by exhaustion, worry and gentility, there was passion there just waiting to bubble up.

It was she who was more eager and it was she who planned a seduction. The flutter of nervousness, born out of insecurity after long years of waiting, was there, but she pushed it firmly aside. His eyes didn't lie. Never.

_Love has no season_  
_There are no rules_  
_Those who stop dreaming are fools_  
_So come with me_  
_Because our time is now_

So, she was beyond 60 and had cancer, and he was pushing for 60 and an emotionally destroyed and burned out man. They were certainly completely out of the usual target group for romance. Actually, they were not even on the waiting list, and yet it was love what they had.

The thought made her smile. In her distant past, as a bubbly and wild teenager, she didn't want to conform. Now, wiser and much older, she _really_ did not.

She had told him the thought when he found her chuckling quietly to herself. He laughed as he took her into his arms and hugged her close. They weren't conventional lovers, they defied every rule there was, but it was love between them and only they knew how that had to be.

They had sat on the couch for hours, snuggled together and he had told her of the plans he was making for after her treatment. Those who knew him wouldn't believe he was capable of such fanciful notions, but with his words, he literally stole the moon from the sky for her and caged the sun in her living room.

In his fantasies, there were beaches in the moonlight, elaborate food, the best wines in the world and...time.

The pictures he painted all gave them years, decades even to experience the wonders he had dreamed, and he shushed her when maudlin thoughts threatened to pull her down. Feeling the oncoming darkness, he had pulled away a bit and shaken his head at her. Leaning in he had kissed her, gently and feather-light, yet it had taken her breath away. There had been more kisses and wandering hands too, passion quickly mounting.

Soon...she hoped.

_Love has no season_  
_There are no rules_  
_Those who stop dreaming are fools_  
_So come with me_  
_Because our time is now_  
_Our time is now_

"You shouldn't stand where you get cold and think so much," a warm voice tenderly chided her from behind. He stood leaning against the door of her hospital room and smiled.

"Didn't get caught?" she teased him, a small impish grin breaking out on her face.

He raised his eyebrows smugly and smirked. Closing the distance between them, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. "You are cold," he admonished and carefully walked them backwards to the bed. Helping her into it, he settled down next to her.

"The doctor will have a fit if he finds you in this bed again."

"He's just jealous. Youre his star patient." His hands unconsciously stroked her arms and hands. He couldn't really help it, she noticed. Ever since that night in this very same room, he couldn't and didn't stop touching her. She loved that.

"Sleep, Grace. Tomorrow our new life starts," he whispered, rocking her gently.

"It's already started," she replied a little sluggishly as she drifted into dream images he had painted for her.

"Hmm?" Boyd smiled at the woman in his arms.

"Our time has already started."

Within moments, they both slept.

_Our time is now_

_

* * *

_

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated._  
_


End file.
